


In Wine, Truth

by DarkInuFan



Series: Blood of the Covenant is Thicker than Water of the Womb [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Child how many witchers do you know?, Duke Pankratz many failed assassination attempts, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier's really shitty adopted parents, M/M, Part 2, That man did not like his stepson, got a monster? Hire a witcher for that!, he gets adopted by ALL the witchers, where I infodump all the backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:27:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29704038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkInuFan/pseuds/DarkInuFan
Summary: “‘Witchers are sterile’ I know.” He couldn’t see them, but he could feel Jaskier throwing frustrated hands behind him. “And that’s apparently a lie. Just like ‘Witchers don’t have emotions’.”“Yeah, okay, that one is bullshit. Still, Witchers are actually sterile, or we’d have lots of little Geralts running around, causing havoc and grunting.”Jaskier couldn’t help it, he grunted. Lambert’s face slowly blanked and he looked down, actually studying Jaskier’s face. “I’m going to fucking murder him!”Part 2 of Water of the Womb, I highly suggest reading that first.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert
Series: Blood of the Covenant is Thicker than Water of the Womb [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2167566
Comments: 25
Kudos: 131





	1. He didn’t come that winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of past Mpreg, Mentions of past child abuse in the form of exorcism, past child neglect
> 
> I highly, highly suggest going back and reading part 1, because you'll likely be very, very lost if you don't.
> 
> Ye be warned.

He didn’t come that winter.

When spring came, it was all the colder of a departure when Eskel left for the path. Usually, Lambert was the first, quickly followed by Geralt, while Eskel helped Vesemir with the spring planting before leaving finally a few weeks later. A handful of words to Geralt and he left to blaze his way down the trail for the spring, the path just barely passable. Lambert left not a week later at his usual departure date, much to his own sigh of relief.

Between what argument Eskel and Old Man Vesemir must have had with Geralt, and bringing up Geralt’s apparent girl-child surprise, it had been a tense winter that none of them ever wanted to give him answers for. All that he knew, was it had nothing to do with the girl-child, despite her unexpected appearance. 

Lambert’s path that year was unremarkable, short of the news of the war with Nilfgaard and how, sometime during midwinter, something significant must have happened, because news of their aggressive advance slowed to a trickle. With that news, and the promise to help train the princess, he turned back home when the leaves started to change, instead as they finished falling. 

Eskel, on the other hand, took the coastal track that year, winding his way west to the coast and then meandered up and down, finding his way surprisingly (or, not so surprisingly) at Oxenfurt University’s gateway bridge. He spent a month within that island town and when he left, it was with a second horse, a decent amount of luggage, and a companion with a propensity toward using daggers on loudmouth drunkards. In their evenings, when his companion wasn’t entertaining the masses at taverns or market squares under an assumed name, music permeated their camp. The lute was expertly played. The flute… was getting there.

Geralt stayed at the Keep, hiding himself and his daughter from Nilfgaard while getting to know her like he should have from the beginning.

That fall, between having the furthest to travel back home and wanting to spend the most time alone with his travel companion that he could, snow was already starting to fill the pass by the time Vesemir spotted two figures crossing the valley. Hours later, Geralt was the first out the door and already winching up the dropped portcullis by the time Vesemir made sure that Ciri’s cloak was tucked snugly around her and running for the courtyard. Having nothing else to do, Lambert followed, not so much for Eskel, but for pure curiosity’s sake (but Eskel as well. It was weird not running across him at least once the previous summer). 

“Jaskier!”

“Ciri! Careful! Careful! There you go-shh…” Jaskier’s dapple, Pegasus, shied sideways at Ciri’s shout, sidling next to Eskel, who held out a hand to both offer assistance and to prevent his leg from being crushed between two horse bodies. Taking back control of his horse, he waved off Eskel’s concern as the horse pranced a bit. 

Ciri winced at the display, watching Jaskier’s horse turn a small circle before finally settling. “Sorry.”

“No problem, Princess, as long as you don’t get hurt. Pegasus has just had… a day.” 

“We ran into a pack of Wargs on the other side of the valley.” Eskel explained, climbing down from Scorpion and giving Geralt a warmer hello than he did goodbye that spring, even if the Wolf was distracted looking Jaskier over for injuries, of which were none visible. 

“We needed some fresh furs to work with this winter.” Vesemir nodded, already making plans. “We’ll head out with the cart tomorrow to salvage what we can, providing the weather holds. Cirilla, if you wish, you can come along and learn how to field harvest pelts and usable alchemy ingredients.”

Ciri grimaced, but nodded in agreement. Being a Witcher was more than just stabbing something with swords, after all. 

Getting down from his horse, Jaskier looked over when he heard a weird noise. “...Julian?”

Blinking at the initial affront of his given name, Jaskier’s expression slowly gave away to a wide grin. “Lambert! It’s been a while!”

“...What the fuck are you doing here?” The youngest wolf stomped up to Jaskier, chest to chest, and looked up. “And you grew.”

Jaskier’s grin took on a dangerous gleam. “Kids do that, you know.” And, resisting no longer, he pat Lambert on the head.

Lambert _howled._

“Wait!” Jaskier flinched back badly with wide eyes, holding out one hand like that would do anything to stop a charging Witcher. For some reason, Lambert _stopped,_ freezing halfway through his charge. “At least let me get my doublet off.” he pleaded, already unbuttoning the cuff on his outstretched arm. “You know how expensive these are, and it’s not like I can find those lovely witches of laundry craft halfway up a mountain like we are.” Jaskier rambled, stripping down to his chemise, making a show of it. “Now…”

Jaskier whipped off his doublet and threw it at Lambert’s head, blinding the Witcher just briefly enough that Jaskier executed his own tackle, knocking Lambert a whole body length back as they started growling and wrestling on the ground, the doublet discarded in a mud puddle. 

Geralt lunged to pry Lambert off his son, only to be stopped by Eskel’s hand gripping his elbow. “Kid’s stronger than he looks.” Eskel said in his ever-calm voice, gesturing with his chin at the duo. Looking over, while Lambert had the brief advantage of experience, Jaskier had managed to flip them once more, both of them growling at each other playfully. “They’ll be fine, Geralt. Jaskier will be fine. Help me stable the horses.” 

Watching them for a minute longer, Geralt reluctantly let himself get pulled away. Taking charge of Pegasus, they quickly settled the two horses and gave them a thorough brush down and inspection before settling them with their well-deserved dinners. If Geralt left an apple in with Pegasus’ feed, Eskel chose not to say anything about it. 

“You may have never trained him, but he learned a lot just by watching you.” Eskel started off, dropping his saddlebags and grabbing Geralt by the hips. “Even if he never joins us on the actual Path, I’m thinking of giving him paired daggers. No, don’t give me that look. He can handle himself just fine.” As if to prove his point, there was a wall-shuddering thud and groan, followed by an enthusiastic cheer from Ciri.

Eskel was too slow to react this time as Geralt peeled himself away and swung through the barn door with a snarl, only to come up short. It had been Lambert that had hit the barn wall and was now collapsed in the dirt. He was still snarling softly, but had given up the fight. Instead, he was petting Jaskier’s head with fond motions.

“You know, I let you win.”

“I know.” Jaskier muttered into Lambert's stomach, his arms wrapped around him in a loose hug. “You always let me win.”

“Shuddup.” Lambert tweaked Jaskier’s ear, but still continued petting him. “Still. What the fuck are you doing up here, Julian. Last I heard, you were at Oxenfurt.”

“Last you heard, I hadn’t even graduated yet. I teach there most winters. And it’s Jaskier, now.”

“Jas-“ Lambert looked up at Geralt with a smirk. “You finally pull your head out of your ass and invited your bard up, huh?”

Geralt, instead of answering, went back into the barn.

Lambert, on the other hand, frowned at the scent of despair coming from the kid in his lap. Unfortunately, it was a scent he had known far too well. “...Do you wanna rant about it, stab something, or change the subject?”

“Change the subject.”

“Ok.” Lambert kept petting Jaskier’s head while he thought. “So… a bard, huh?”

Jaskier nodded. “I wanted to travel.”

“I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to a home like that either. You never could sit still.”

“Still don’t like sitting still.” Jaskier stared at Lambert’s navel for a good minute before he spoke again. “Mom passed last year. In her things was a letter. I finally found out what happened.”

“Oh? You found out what bum of a Witcher ditched their surprise kid instead of bringing you home?”

Jaskier’s laugh was… wrong. He hoped that he would never hear it like that again. “Surprise kid is right. But I’m not a child of surprise. Apparently both my parents were Witchers, and not just my Father like Mom assumed.”

“But-“

“‘Witchers are sterile’ I know.” He couldn’t see them, but he could feel Jaskier throwing frustrated hands behind him. “And that’s apparently a lie. Just like ‘Witchers don’t have emotions’.”

“Yeah, okay, that one is bullshit. Still, Witchers are actually sterile, or we’d have lots of little Geralts running around, causing havoc and grunting.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help it, he grunted. Lambert’s face slowly blanked and he looked down, actually studying Jaskier’s face. “...I like to think I’m more talkative” is what he would have liked to say, or “there’s only one of me that he’ll admit to.” Instead, Jaskier buried his face back into Lambert’s stomach.

“I’m going to fucking _murder him_!” Lambert snarled, making to get up, but Jaskier refused to let go. In fact, he tightened his hold around Lambert’s waist until he finally collapsed back against the barn wall. “Shit.” He huffed and deflated like a punctured ball, going back to petting Jaskier’s head, playing with the strands between his fingers. “I at least got to know my Old Man before he ditched me, so I already knew first hand what a bastard he was...

"Here, it’s snowing again. Let’s get inside, okay?” Lambert’s voice was soft, in the way that it was when dealing with kids. Including the one on his lap.

“Yeah, sure.” It wasn't snowing hard, but it was an excuse to move around. Finally letting Lambert up, Jaskier followed the Witcher into the keep and straight into the kitchens, where Lambert immediately unearthed some goats milk, butter, sugar and a few of their precious spices to make a hot drink for both of them.

* * *

Inside the barn, Eskel kept a firm grip on Geralt’s wrist, and another planted on his chest. “I believe,” He finally spoke when the two went inside. “That it would be best for you to avoid both of them for the next while. Or I think Lambert might actually succeed in killing you, for once.” 

Grunting, Geralt took half the luggage and nodded his way toward the main building, but before he went inside, he made sure to snag Jaskier’s abandoned doublet from the half-frozen puddle. He would make sure that it was properly washed and possibly mended before returning it. Though, Geralt had to blink when he picked it up. It was heavier than he expected, and stiffer as well.

“We compromised.” Eskel explained, nodding at the doublet. “I said no silk, he said no blatant armor. It’s leather reinforced.” Geralt grunted in understanding. It was a smart solution. The leather would both protect him and keep him warmer in the colder northern winter. 

Upstairs, he led Eskel to one of the empty rooms in the wing that they had claimed as their own and pushed open the door. “We moved Jaskier’s room.” Inside, Eskel had to admit to being impressed. “...Ciri helped.”

“I can tell.” Eskel said through his grin, putting his portion of Jaskier’s bags down next to the washstand vanity and plucked the remainder out of Geralt’s arms. Colorful tapestries Eskel had thought lost when the wing containing the crèche had collapsed hung on three walls. The fourth was a set of doors that Eskel knew had one of the few intact balconies in the keep. The bed frame looked like it had been pulled from the Masters’ wing and was hung with thick curtains, as well as what looked like a freshly stuffed mattress and pillows. Blankets were piled on top of the bed, as well as likely filling the trunk at the end, topped with a very familiar pure-white warg pelt. 

While all warg were white, most had at least a hint of color somewhere along the body. This one, when Eskel had shot it, was pure white under the dirt. He had tanned it and presented it to Geralt as a Yule present. Thinking about it now, Eskel realized that the pelt was likely around the same age that Jaskier was. 

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

Eskel looked sideways at Geralt, only to see him fidgeting slightly in a way that he hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sure he will.” Taking in the rest of the room, Eskel noted that there was a lute-stand (likely carved by Geralt) next to one of the lounging chairs by the fire, along with a writing desk, already stacked with parchments and a handful of different inks and quills to choose from. 

Above the fire mantle was a series of hooks, meant to hold a pair of Silver and Steel swords. Seeing where Eskel was looking, Geralt shrugged. “Vesemir installed that. He’s planning on teaching him.”

“I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t.” Eskel agreed, taking a final look around before heading across the hall to their own room. Which, to be honest, wasn’t near as well-appointed. It was more lived in, to be sure, with shelves of various souvenirs and far too many books, but still basic. They had a bed without a canopy, but wide enough for two- or occasionally three if the nightmares were bad- a pair of comfortably rustic chairs by the fire, a small washstand and chamber pot in the corner and shelves. So many shelves.

It took only a handful of minutes to unpack his things. Clothes into the laundry basket, alchemy supplies in one trunk, and a handful of new books and other trinkets on the shelf. “You might like this one.” Eskel held out a slim volume, covered in pale leather and gold leaf. “The author signed it and everything. Heard he was famous and he’s had several editions published.” Looking at it, Geralt saw the title ‘Half a Century of Poetry by Prof. J. A. Pankratz’. 

“I didn’t know he was published.” Geralt murmured, taking it and flipping through the pages. Then he turned to the front dust cover. Not only had Jaskier signed it, but it looked like he had taken his time and drawn an accurate copy of Geralt and Eskel’s Witcher medallions. 

“He has a few, under various pseudonyms, actually. Though he refused to tell me what the others were.”

Geralt snorted at that, taking the book over and sitting in a chair by the fire, but not before grabbing a pair of delicate reading lenses from the mantle. Settling as he was, Eskel couldn’t help but to give Geralt a soft look before grabbing a change of soft winter clothes and heading down to the bathhouse, leaving him to read. 


	2. In Which a Feral Brat becomes a Feral Bard and gets adopted by Witchers

“So.” Lambert set down the sweet spiced milk in front of Jaskier and sat across from him. “Talk.” Taking the drink, Jaskier cupped his hands around it and brought the tankard closer, using it to warm his hands. “Or, you know what, this involves Geralt. I’ll be right back.” Not a minute later, Lambert returned with an earthenware jug and broke the wax sealed cork off before pouring a generous dollop in both their cups without a by-your-leave. Jaskier’s eyes watered with just the waft of whatever was in the jug. The wolf left the jug within both their easy reach. “So. Tell me what happened.”

“Where do you want me to start?” Jaskier asked, taking a tentative sip of the brew. It was a familiar heat, with an added warmth that came from the home brew.

“The beginning’s usually a good place.” Lambert shrugged. “How about that last year I saw you?”

“Yeah, ok. That was…” Jaskier tapped out a rhythm on the table in thought. “Ok. So that fall, instead of sending me back to temple school, Alfred sent me to Oxenfurt, since ‘my father was obviously not coming back for me, so I might as well make myself useful.’”

“Lovely man.” Lambert muttered, remembering his brief interactions. Duke Alfred Pankratz was an older man that took a young wife, ‘liberating’ her from the shame of having ‘a bastard child out of wedlock’ as those that didn’t know the truth about Julian assumed. That Alfred was Diane’s second husband was conveniently forgotten by most, since he had been killed in the same attack that took her firstborn. Soon after their wedding, Alfred had sent young Julian to the furthest temple school he could get away with, without crossing into another country. Each summer, Julian was summoned home and, after the first year, they usually hired a Witcher to escort the child home. That Witcher, through luck or destiny, had nearly always been Lambert. It was an odd contract for a Witcher to take, true, but he never complained about the easy pay when he was fresh on the path and still a teenager himself. 

Though, thinking back on it, he was highly suspicious that Alfred had hoped that the Witcher hired would just take off with the child mid-contract, relieving himself of the responsibility and giving the Witcher child back to whence he belonged. That, and the monastery could never hold Julian in her bosom for long. After the servant sent to retrieve him (and not even a high-ranking one at that) failed to find him, they set a contract to find him in the forests behind the cloister. It took a while, but Lambert eventually discovered the child’s tracks, where it led him to a slit-eyed half-feral thing in a sackcloth (Burlap) shirt and little else. 

It took a month to get him back home, and in that time, Lambert grew fond of the feral brat. More than once, over the years, he contemplated taking the kid away from his obviously unappreciative father, but the kid loved his mother, and his mother him. 

“Yeah. I think he hoped I would have just settled down with the clergy, but celibacy is just not in the cards for me!” They both laughed at that, saluting each other with tankards. “So, I think he hoped I would make something of myself as a scribe or accountant, or other such dull thing where I would be locked away for all but a few to see me.” 

“Well, that obviously backfired.”

“ _Spectacularly.”_ Jaskier purred. “Instead, I fell head over heels with the arts in all her forms.” At that, Lambert made an obscene gesture, making Jaskier laugh. “I did say, _all_ her forms, didn’t I?” Taking a sip, Jaskier forced himself back on track. “So that fall, Alfred set out another contract. He must have worded this one differently, or you were out of the area, but Letho was the one to show up instead. I think that Alfred thought that Letho would ‘take care of me’ better than you apparently didn’t.” 

Lambert froze at that. He hadn’t met the Viper himself, but he hadn’t gotten the moniker of ‘Kingslayer’ for a minor misunderstanding. But still, there were lines that no Witcher would cross, no matter the pay, and child killing was one of them. Instead, they would be obligated to take the child, if not to the Witcher’s school, then another safe location to finish growing up. And yet, he didn’t see a Viper medallion around this bard’s neck.

“...What did he do?” Lambert asked breathlessly, eyes scanning all over Jaskier’s face like his skin would tell any tales of wrongdoing. 

Jaskier, in response, shrugged. “He took care of me. He took me to Oxenfurt and made sure I got in. Turns out Alfred banked a little more on me not making it there and hadn’t actually signed me up for classes. Then he got me my glamor and made sure I had a way to contact him in case things went completely south.”

“Ah! That’s what it is!” Lambert pointed at his face and Jaskier went a bit cross-eyed, staring at the fingertip. “I knew something wasn’t quite right!”

Jaskier blinked, opened his mouth, closed it, gave a half-chuckle and slumped until his head touched the table. Holding up his hand, he turned it so that Lambert could see the signet ring on his thumb. It was the Viper medallion in miniature, now that he paid attention to it. “Melitele’s Wondrous Tits, is that what was distracting you?”

“Yes. You look way too fucking human.”

“...Usually, that’s not a bad thing.” 

“You _smell_ completely human.”

“Oh.” Jaskier blinked. “I… huh. Didn’t know that.” That actually explained some things. Or, at least, he liked to think it did. If it didn’t, well, his opinion of Geralt’s actions in the past really couldn’t get much lower. 

“Yeah, well, it’s _weird,_ is what it is. And I miss those adorable little baby fangs.” Lambert grinned, pointing at his arm where one of his smallest scars sat: a bite mark, barely the length of this smallest finger, darkened with a bit of ash so that it wouldn’t fade completely over time.

“I can always bite you again, if you want.” Jaskier grinned, showing off his completely human teeth before licking his teeth self consciously and looking away. “Letho got the glamor mostly for my eyes. They started to change more obviously that summer.”

“Probably for the best then. Can’t have an untrained baby Witcher running around and getting killed.” Jaskier stayed silent, tilting his head slightly side to side in thought.

“Letho didn’t take me home that summer. Or any summer after that. Hell, I didn’t go home until Prissy showed up in my lecture hall one winter.”

“Then how the fuck did you end up following Geralt around like a lost pup?” They both blinked at that before Lambert snorted. Jaskier shrugged, lifting his mug up and blinking down at the dregs of his drink. He swore it was still half-full, last he checked. Lambert saw that and gestured for him to finish his drink before grabbing the mug and rinsing it out. Then he half-filled it with water before topping it off with more of the strong drink from the jug. “Doubt you’d be able to handle Gull at full strength if you haven’t had it before. And knowing those two overprotective assholes, you haven’t.” Lambert explained as he set the mug back down in front of Jaskier.

Jaskier nodded his thanks, wrapping his hands around the mug for something to do. “I graduated.” He shrugged. “Letho was there to see me earn my Summa Cum Laude tassels for my degree in all seven arts. He gave me this ring and my first lute and told me to take a year to think about what I wanted to do and find out the kind of person I wanted to be. A few months later, I met Geralt. Got Punched. Kidnapped. Letho’s lute broken…”

“...And then Geralt defended me from the elves and negotiated with Filavandrel for a new lute, since they had broken mine without provocation. It’s still my favorite instrument.” Jaskier grinned, though it was tinged with melancholy as he swirled the diluted White Gull potion base and took a drink.

Then immediately regretted it, coughing and sputtering while Lambert casually covered his own drink with a palm. “Strong, huh?”

“ _Bastard.”_

“I did warn you.” Lambert sing-songed, taking a full gulp of his own undiluted drink. “And you’re not the first one to call me that. Unlike you, my parents were very unhappily married.”

Jaskier made a face at that. As much as he could accept that Eskel was his father and Geralt his mother… he really didn’t want to think about it. 

“Are you done talking to Lambert yet Jaskier?” Ciri asked with a pout from the doorway, Vesemir pushing her forward gently so that he could get into the kitchen himself to check on dinner. Passing by, he patted Jaskier on the head in the same absent greeting he would give any of his pups. 

“Ah, I’m so sorry Princess, I got a bit caught up.” Jaskier stood and bowed in apology. “Lambert and I go back quite a while and we haven’t seen each other in nearly as long, so we had quite a bit to talk about.”

Her arms crossed, Ciri affected a pout and pretended to think about it before holding out her hand, palm down. “I guess I’ll forgive the slight this time, dear Bard.”

“How benevolent, dearest highness.” Jaskier bowed over her hand and bussed her practice-roughed knuckles before standing up. “Do I still get a hug?” 

Ciri sighed dramatically, but a grin cracked through her acting. “I guess.” Taking her up on her offer, Jaskier scooped her up and swung her around, making her squeal and laugh before hanging her arms off his neck in a return hug. 

“You didn’t come home last winter.” Ciri pouted, not noticing Jaskier freeze up at the word ‘home’ passing her lips.

“No. My most sincere apologies. I was caught up and couldn’t get back to Oxenfurt until after midwinter, let alone back across the continent and up here to the keep.”

“Did you win?”

“That’s not…” Jaskier blinked, not quite sure how to word it. “I made it out alive and I like to think that I made a difference with the information I gathered, if you would count that as a win. So, yes, I guess I did.”

“Good.” Ciri nodded, going to pull out plates for dinner as Vesemir called her away to help. 

“I take it that she wasn’t talking about any bardic competitions.” Lambert narrowed his eyes as he sipped from his mug.

“Not this time, no. I occasionally work for Redania’s Secret Service under Dijkstra, and last year I was sent down to Nilfgaard to infiltrate Emrys’ court and to bring back what information I could.” Lowering his voice and covering it with his own mug, he watched Ciri set the table to make sure she couldn’t hear. “And I found out things that at least Geralt should probably know.”

Vesemir nodded, not turning away from his stew as he spoke just as low. “Is it time sensitive?”

“At this point, no, not really.”

Vesemir grunted, speaking loud enough to get Ciri’s attention. “When you’re done with that, you can show Jaskier to his room so that he can freshen up for dinner.”

“Okay!” 

“You are staying for the winter this time, correct? The passes will close soon.” The question wasn’t so much a question, but a statement meant to be obeyed. 

“Winter session started nearly a month ago, and it would take me another to reach the school. Oxenfurt already knows that I won’t be teaching this year.” Jaskier confirmed. Of which, the eldest Witcher took that meaning Djikstra had no need for the boy for the foreseeable future. 

Vesemir nodded. “Good.” and sampled the broth before tossing a handful of the more delicate fresh herbs in. They likely would be the last of the season, unless Vesemir had a hothouse hidden away somewhere in the keep.

Setting down the last of the silverware, Ciri came over and dragged Jaskier up, wrapping her arms around his, chattering along the entire trek up. “We moved your room.” She explained when Jaskier went to make the turn down the hall his room was in last time. “Geralt let me help clean out the one next to mine and help decorate it too! His and Eskel’s room is right there, just in case I have a nightmare… I have a lot of them.” She looked down, stopping in front of a door before giving Jaskier a smile. “But not as many as I used to.”

“That’s good.” Jaskier returned her smile. “You can always come to me too, princess, if for some reason you can’t go to Geralt.”

“Thank you.” Her words were sincere, but both of them knew the likelihood of it happening was slim. “This one is yours.” Stepping aside, she let Jaskier open the door himself. When he opened the door, he was greeted by a tapestry of a griffin being ridden by what he could rightly assume was a Witcher. “I helped pick which tapestries to hang up. Vesemir said that they all came from the creche, whatever that is.” 

“The nursery.” Jaskier answered absently, studying each tapestry as he moved further into the room. “Where the children stayed before they were old enough to start training.” There was also a tapestry that showed the four colors of 'true' dragons. And there, by the fireplace, was a pair of narrower tapestries that showed a pair of howling wolves as they framed the fireplace. He could see where there were repairs to the cloth, where the color of the thread didn’t quite match the surrounding stitches, but wouldn’t have noticed without knowing what to look for first. “The room is lovely, thank you, Princess Cirilla.” He smiled, spotting his baggage already in the room.

“It’s Ciri.” She pouted, crossing her arms. “I’m not a princess anymore.”

“Nonsense.” Jaskier knelt, pulling out a winter weight tunic that Eskel had bought for him at the last town they passed through, and laid it on the arm of the chair to warm by the fire. “You’ll always be a princess to me, even outside of Cintra’s walls. But,” He found the wash stand’s pitcher already full of water, so he heated it a bit with a careful Igni before looking over his shoulder at the girl, “If you truly don’t want me to call you anything except for Ciri, I suppose it's about time that I obey your whims.”

“Good.” Seeing Jaskier’s reluctance to change in front of her, she took her cue to turn to leave. “Dinner will be soon. Don’t be late, or Vesemir will make you run the killer.”

Biting off his immediate response of ‘yes, princess’, Jaskier nodded and started working on the laces tying his chemise closed at the neck. “I won’t be long then.” With a long stare, Ciri nodded to herself and left, her chore done.

Taking a moment to himself, Jaskier sighed when he heard the door shut behind him, scrubbing his face with dry hands before taking another look around the room. It was indeed nice. Much more than he was expecting, to be honest. Especially compared to the room he had been in the last time he had come up. Everywhere, he could see touches of decisions Geralt had made for his comfort. The desk alone was stocked nearly as well as his university desk tended to be, complete with a beautifully wrought candlestick, already topped with a fresh candle, ready for that inevitable late-night spark of inspiration that often gripped him during the long winter nights. 

Lifting the angled lid of the desk, he found a stack of parchments, as well as a fistful of high quality quills that looked like they had come from a griffin. What got him, though, was an envelope full of spare lute strings, with doubles of the ones he tended to snap the most. As well as his preferred lute conditioner in a good sized tin. Closing the desk carefully, Jaskier let himself fall into the chair like his strings were cut, staring off into the middle distance. Those things, while necessary for his trade, weren’t cheap, and harder to come by the further they were from any major city. It meant that someone, likely Geralt, had gone out of their way to procure them. All in the hope that he would come back. 

To borrow Geralt’s favorite catch-all, “Fuck.” Giving himself a few more moments to wallow, Jaskier hurried through his ablutions, scrubbing as much road dirt as he could using the wash stand before wrapping himself up in the warmed royal blue tunic. He would have time for a proper bath after dinner, if he could get one of the others to show him where it was. 

Making his way downstairs to the kitchens, he found that he was the last to arrive, if only just barely. Eskel was just situating himself next to Geralt as he came in, leaving the last empty chair between Lambert and Ciri. His mug from earlier had found its way to his seat, filled with water to cut the White Gull down to hopefully a more tolerant level. But if his nose hairs had any indication of it, his was the only one. Ciri, though, had only plain water. 

Halfway through the meal, Jaskier caught Geralt’s eye. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta hate when you have plans for a short fic, and the fic itself to 'LOL No' and you can't make it hit the 2 other points you wanted to get in before the end? Well, that's what the next story is, so I'll see you there!
> 
> Also, Lambert is only about a dozen years older than Jaskier. Jaskier was, in fact, one of his first non-drowner contracts.


End file.
